One for All...
by Aggy
Summary: A Star Wars version of the Three Musketeers starring Rogue Squadron
1. Prologue

Title: "One for All."  
  
Author: Aggy  
  
Characters: Rogues and various Star Wars Icons  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: WAAS, Wildfire, if you want it, please ask me so I know where it is.  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or it's characters (I wish I did) but I do own the creativity that made this story. I'm not making any money but if Lucas would like to pay me... ;o)  
  
  
  
"One for All."  
  
Aggy  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
  
  
It is a dark time for the Rebel Alliance..  
  
For thousands of years, the Jedi were the protectors of the Republic. Guardians of justice and peace, they allowed the Republic to flourish to a grandeur few had thought possible. It was a golden age that was shattered all too soon. Shattered by the manipulative evil of Cardinal Palpatine. Slowly, insidiously, Palpatine took over the great Senate, turning a court of fair rule into a tyranny.  
  
His forces, headed by Darth Vader, scoured the galaxy of the Jedi. Hunting them down like animals of prey. Slaughtering them and any that harbored the noble warriors. Within a decade, the word Jedi was only spoken in hushed tones. They became a legend that many thought would never live again.  
  
But not all gave into Palpatine rule gracefully. A small group of Senators protested his rule. Fought against the tyranny that was perpetrated in the name of "justice." Their leader, the wise Queen, Mon Mothma and her Heir, Princess Leia Organa fought the darkness that was steadily devouring the galaxy.  
  
Their forces, meager but determined, harried the Empire, striking minor victories but were never able to gain enough strength to execute a killing blow.It was thought that all hope was lost. That without the Jedi, the golden age of the Galaxy would never again be achieved.  
  
Then, like a prayer answered by the Force, a young farm boy took up the mantle of the lost religion. His destiny blazed like fire across the imagination, fueling dreams that few had dared to hold. But like all fires, his flame was soon extinguished.  
  
The hopes that the Jedi would rise again to their former glory were shattered when Darth Vader destroyed Luke Skywalker. During the great battle both combatants were killed, but the death of the last of the Jedi was a crippling blow for the freedom fighters.  
  
Sure that their forces would soon be destroyed, the Rebellion took flight in an effort to preserve the meager resources left to their cause. During this desperate escape, the Princess Organa was captured and forced into fostership on Coruscant. A prisoner in everything but name, the heir endured a role in court that she despised, puppet for the all-powerful Cardinal.  
  
It was believed that the death of the last Jedi would bring an end to the Alliance, that Palpatine's "guardianship" of the Princess would halt all attempts of freeing the Galaxy of his darkness. But the Cardinal did not anticipate another group to take up the mantle of protectors of justice.  
  
From the depths of the shattered Alliance came a group of intensely loyal individuals willing to sacrifice their lives for the imprisoned Heir. In front of the great court of Coruscant, they offered themselves to Princess Organa as her guards, her Rogues.  
  
She accepted their offer most enthusiastically.  
  
Unable to deny her these protectors for fear of showing the entire galaxy that she was not a willing guest of the Empire, Palpatine grudgingly accepted the presence of the Rogues in Coruscant.  
  
But the Rogues became far more than the honor guard that the Cardinal had anticipated.  
  
Their orange uniforms blazed through the court, a symbol of Leia's subtle attempts to free herself from the Empire's grasp. The orange became the color of the glowing ember of hope that was slowly spreading through the Galaxy. A hope that could quickly turn into another rebellion against the Empire.  
  
Infuriated by the catalytic effects of her loyal fighters, Palpatine quickly organized his forces against the Rogues. He created a guard of his own to "protect" Princess Organa, headed by Ysanne Isard. She and her troops, simply called the 181st, harried the Rogues, quietly but efficiently eliminating them from Leia's presence.  
  
Isard's efforts, combined with the subtle manipulations of Cardinal Palpatine, forced the Rogues into hiding. Their ranks slowly became disheartened by the constant harassment by the Cardinal's troops only three of the Rogues remained on Coruscant. Their presence brought hope to the imprisoned Heir but it seemed that Palpatine was unstoppable. That it was impossible to break the Empire and restore the Galaxy to its proper guardianship.  
  
But what was not anticipated was the arrival of a new player to this world of political intrigue and intimidation. A young man foolish enough to believe in the honor of Heir's Guard, but wise enough to know that danger lingered in every shadow. A young man with the heritage of the Jedi, and the arrogance of a Rogue.  
  
A man who had never forgotten that for the Rogues, the impossible is their stock in trade, and success is what they always deliver.. 


	2. Chapter 1

Title: "One for All."  
  
Author: Aggy  
  
Characters: Rogues and various Star Wars Icons  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: WAAS, Wildfire, Sith Chicks, if you want it, please ask me so I know where it is.  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or it's characters (I wish I did) but I do own the creativity that made this story. I'm not making any money but if Lucas would like to pay me... ;o)  
  
  
  
"One for All."  
  
Aggy  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
A young gallant stood outside of Rogue Squadron Headquarters, an anxious wanderer filled with dreams of justice and honor. A few months ago, such a sight would not stir interest. Dozens of young men would hover near the doors, hoping that one of their ranks would be given a chance to join the legendary group of fighters.  
  
But now, his presence was more oddity than familiarity. The great hall that had housed the Rogues had been silenced. The transparasteel windows boarded up. Its proud walls defaced by graffiti and filth. Deserted after Cardinal Palatine had all but disbanded the Rogues, setting the 181st on the loyal bodyguards like rabid hounds.  
  
One by one, the noble warriors were murdered or driven off-planet, leaving Princess Organa alone in a sea of enemies. It was rumored that a few of the Rogues remained, hidden so well that even Captain Isard's spies could not find them. But it seemed likely that this story was wrought to give comfort to the besieged Heir.  
  
He reluctantly pulled his attention away from Rogue Headquarters, scanning the crowed that rushed past the foot of the tattered steps. Few people noted his presence. The few that did he watched carefully. It was impossible to be unobserved in a city housing billions. All he could hope for was that the 181st did not notice him. He knew it was futile to hope that the Cardinal's spies were not busy telling their master of the rough- worn traveler that was so fascinated with the Rogues abandoned base.  
  
A few did take vague interest in the shabby warrior who seemed so intent on Rogue Headquarters. He was a curiosity to the beings of this oppressed world. A strange mix of contradictions that drew the eye but did not draw undue attention.  
  
The battered haversack slung over his shoulder marked him as a humble, weary traveler. The white shirt he wore was of fine the finest quality, but had been fashionable years ago. A brown leather vest defined a set of broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. His trousers were of heavy cloth that had been woven for utility not elegance. His worn, run down at the heel boots were a visible reminder of kilometers hard traveled, battles hard won. The blaster riding his right hip was worn for a cross draw, giving the man a rakish appearance that was emphasized by long black hair pulled back with a dark green ribbon that matched his watchful eyes.  
  
A handsome young man, a poor caviler who had traveled to Coruscant to find his glory. Just like the thousands that poured into the city-planet each week. Unremarkable, forgettable, if not for the weapon he carried.  
  
The sword he wore proudly, defiantly, marked him as a gentleman of a quality rarely seen on Coruscant since Cardinal Palpatine's rise to power.  
  
If he had come of age ten years ago, the weapon on his belt would have been a lightsaber, not a blade of metal. But while Darth Vader had been destroying the last of the Jedi, his abilities had been kept hidden. Keeping a frightened boy safe so he could grow to become an honorable man.  
  
Now his Jedi heritage was all but forgotten. The use of the Force seen more as a weakness than a strength. After all, the Jedi had been slaughtered because of those abilities. Why bring such a fate upon himself when he could use more mundane skills and get the same results?  
  
Finally at ease with the mad rush of beings that flowed past the foot of the steps like floodwaters, the caviler pushed the doors and entered hall of outlawed heroes. 


	3. Chapter 2

Title: "One for All."  
  
Author: Aggy  
  
Characters: Rogues and various Star Wars Icons  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: WAAS, Wildfire, Sith Chicks, if you want it,  
  
please ask me so I know where it is.  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or it's characters (I wish I did) but I do own the creativity that made this story. I'm not making any money but if Lucas would like to pay me... ;o) I also don't own The Three Musketeers.  
  
  
  
"One for All."  
  
Aggy  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
  
A beam of dim sunlight spilled through the open door, creating a weak puddle of light that seemed to ripple across the floor as the cavalier entered Rogue Headquarters. Quickly he moved to one side, staying near the only source of illumination, but keeping himself from being silhouetted in the doorway. He could not afford to expose himself in such a manner. None of the 181st had been visible when he entered the structure, but that did not mean that the Cardinal's spies and assassins were not guarding the keep.  
  
Squinting into the darkness, the cavalier found the light sensor, but when he palmed the device to activate it, he was sorely disappointed. Sliding the pack from his shoulder, he rummaged through its contents until he found a glow rod. He thumbed the power switch, causing a strong beam of bluish light to wash across the entry hall. The light was powerful, but the shadows that lingered throughout the huge space were too thick for the glow rod to obliterate. Contenting himself with this meager source of light, he again settled the pack onto his shoulder and began exploring the ruined sanctuary.  
  
# # #  
  
Rogue Headquarters reminded the gallant of a tomb. Silent and empty, waiting to be occupied by the ghosts of lost warriors. His footsteps echoed hollowly through the deserted corridors, a haunting companion for the tattered wanderer.  
  
He only searched what rooms that were unlocked, never forcing open the doors that had been bolted in an effort to keep Cardinal Palpatine's men at bay. He knew that this place had been defiled far too often by the 181st, he could not add to the insults performed against this great monument.  
  
His explorations took him through the quarters of Rogues. The cavalier did not enter these rooms, only peeking inside to see what damage had been inflicted against their personal quarters. Their occupants had efficiently emptied most. But others had the look of spaces hastily departed. While others seemed to be the scene of violence. Beds torn apart, clothes strewn from one corner of the room to the other. The rooms had been shredded by some malevolent force. Shuddering at the destruction of the warriors' private sanctuary, the wanderer moved deeper into the deserted keep.  
  
He expected more signs of violence, but none could be found. Only broken tokens from hasty retreats or impatient searches. Once, while searching the hanger that had housed the starfighters the Rogues had flown before becoming bodyguards, he knelt down next to the dark stain that marred the ferrocrete. He expected the worst, but it was nothing more ominous than hydraulic fluid.  
  
Eventually he made his way to the circular room where the Rogues had prepped for missions. He expected to find the space as hollow as all the other rooms he had visited, but instead, the cavalier found signs of habitation.  
  
As he entered the room, recessed glow panels slowly faded to life, casting a soft light over the scavenged furniture that seemed to sulk inside the space. Shadows inhabited the corners, drifting over the remains of the tables and chairs had been destroyed in the frenzied searches the 181st had performed. One of the tables had been pieced together from bits of furniture. Two ragged chairs sat across from each other.  
  
As the gallant moved towards the broken podium that at one time dominated the room, he saw more evidence of habitation. A heating unit sat in the corner, its coils a fading from dark orange to dull gray, showing that the device had been used in the past few hours. On the table, forgotten scraps and dirty plates showed that someone was truly using this place as shelter.  
  
But who was hiding in the nearly forgotten keep? Some homeless being looking for somewhere dry to sleep or.  
  
The caviler moved towards the table, hoping to find some clue of the identity of whoever was hidden inside the deserted halls.  
  
The sound of metal sliding against leather stopped him. Forced him to stand statue-still as the shadows in front of him materialized into a man. Broad shouldered and walking with a distinctive swagger, the being stepped towards the cavalier. But the young warrior had been sure that he heard a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Which meant.Behind him, footsteps, signaling that the being stepping towards him wasn't alone.  
  
"Kill him." The being behind him snapped. The being that the young man was sure was carrying naked steel.  
  
The man dark-haired man chuckled. "Really, Tycho. You should have better manners."  
  
The men slowly circled around the gallant. "Tycho" stepping forward as the broad shouldered one walked behind the silent warrior. "Why should I act civil to a thief?"  
  
"Because there is no proof that he is a thief."  
  
"And there is no proof that he is NOT a thief. And that is not the point, Wes. He has intruded on our sanctuary and he should pay for that indiscretion."  
  
"Let the fool have a chance to speak."  
  
The blond stood before the cavalier, ice blue eyes thoughtful. The tip of his sword touched the young man's throat. "Tell us who you are and why you're here or I will slit your throat."  
  
The cavalier held Tycho's gaze for a long moment, barely registering that "Wes" had moved beside the blond holding the sword. "My name is Corran Horn."  
  
"Another Corellian." Wes rolled his eyes dramatically, "You would think Corellia was the only habitable planet in the galaxy."  
  
"You wouldn't be complying if he was female," Tycho reminded.  
  
"Too true," Wes replied, eyeing their captive thoughtfully. "He doesn't look like one of the Hounds."  
  
"Would the Cardinal send a man that LOOKED like a Hound if he meant to spy on us?"  
  
"No," Wes conceded, "But he would send the Hounds if he wished to rout us out of here." His hand drifted to the sword at his hip, fingering the grip gently. "He could be nothing more than a young fool wanting a souvenir from the lost and yet to be lamented Rogues."  
  
"Actually," Corran interrupted. "I came here to become a Rogue."  
  
At that comment, Wes laughed while Tycho scowled at the young man. "Then you're twice the fool I took you for. The Cardinal disbanded us months ago and put a price on our heads. You have to be either stupid or suicidal to want to join with us now."  
  
# # #  
  
To Wes, this brash Corellian was neither suicidal nor stupid. There was a keen edge to the cavalier's green eyes that could not feign stupidity. And the careful way he moved around Tycho, making sure the Rogue never questions motives, was an obvious sign that suicide was not what Corran desired.  
  
Slowly, almost acting as if he ignored the presence of Tycho's sword, the gallant told the Rogues of his quest to become one of the Heir's bodyguards. Corran himself was an outlaw with a price on his head. But his crimes were not the distasteful ones Tycho accused him of. Instead, the young man had been forced to leave Corellia because of his relentless search for his father's murderer. A search that ended when he had accused the dictat of his homeworld of conspiring to kill a CorSec officer whose crime was exposing the corruption that was devouring the government he had pledged his service to.  
  
Corran had been his father's partner, a CorSec agent of impeccable record until Kirtan Loor had tainted it with charges of murder. Loor marked him as kinslayer, a man who had murdered his own father.  
  
Knowing that he could not fight such odds, Horn had escaped Corellia. During his exhaustive travels, the gallant had watched the Rebellion crumble until the Rogues were the only visible reminders of the cause so many had died for.  
  
And the Rogues became his ideal. He had been an agent of justice while working for CorSec and without that role, Corran had been completely lost. An aimless wanderer that would soon sink into a malaise that there would be no escaping from. To save himself from this darkness, the young man had focused on the shining example of the Rogues.  
  
Becoming one of those bodyguards became his obsession. And as Wes listened to the man's words, the Rogue realized there would be no dissuading this warrior from his task. Either he would become a Rogue or Corran would die trying.  
  
It was a madness that Wes could understand and respect. There was something almost feverish about the man. A strange trait that made Wes feel better for having worn the orange. For so long, he had remained hidden, pretending that he had never picked up a sword until he almost wished that he had never pledged himself to the beleaguered Princess. Then, by the mere presence of this electrifying young man, Wes again felt as if he were a vital part of the shattered Rebellion.  
  
The Rogue eyed his friend, but the blond seemed immune to the gallant's charm. Tycho, it seemed, wanted nothing to do with this brazen Corellian with more guts than sense. "Listen, boy. We're telling you that the Rogues are dead." Tycho paused, eyeing his comrade. "Or are as good as dead."  
  
"Thank you for targeting me when you said that," Wes groused.  
  
"If YOU were not so fond of barroom brawls, it would be more difficult for the Hounds to find us."  
  
Wes wisely chose to remain silent.  
  
Tycho finally sheathed his blade, pacing before the warrior who had stumbled into their sanctuary. "We are outlaws. Any who side with us will also be an outlaw. You will be a criminal."  
  
Corran let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I am already a criminal. My supposed crimes are far worse than any the two of you have performed. I am kinslayer."  
  
Tycho's pale eyes narrowed. "Do not trivialize my past, BOY," he spat. "I have been to hell and I can easily arrange for you to stay there permanently." The blond Rogue took a shuddering breath. Wes watched patiently, knowing that no words would ease the pain that wracked his friend's soul. When Tycho spoke again, his voice was smooth as ice. "I do not believe that you understand the gravity of the situation."  
  
Turning on his heel, the Rogue stalked towards the door, gesturing for the cavalier to follow. "There is something I need to show you."  
  
Corran glanced at Wes who shrugged helplessly. "After you," Corran offered.  
  
Wes chuckled, then gestured for the gallant to follow Tycho. "I haven't lived this long without learning caution." Then he placed a hand on his chest dramatically. "And what sort of example would I set if I did not offer a guest first chance through the door."  
  
Tycho led them to a shadowed hall that seemed to have at one time been an area that housed many of the Rogue's celebrations. The floors were dressed in granite. The remains of furniture that littered the space were of an opulence that was rarely seen outside Palpitine's courts. The walls were paneled in a rich golden wood that must have been imported onto the city- planet. All walls, that is, save one.  
  
One wall showcased the greatest artwork Corran had ever seen. It ran the length of the celebration hall. The mural was a wonder that he had never expected to see in the finest of palace rooms, let alone in the keep housing a band of rough warriors.  
  
The center of the wall was dominated by the red and blue ensignia of Rogue Squadron; a symbol that had been kept even after the group gave up its x- wings. A memory of their past; beneath this reminder, the Rogue's motto had been carefully calligraphied in golden text. "All for One. One for All."  
  
On the left side of the emblem was the painted representation of the Squadron's past. Starting from Skywalker's successful flight against the first Death Star, the various dogfights and battles faded one to the next until the horrible defeat at Endor.  
  
On the right side of the emblem was a grand court scene. This side represented the transformation of starfighter unit to an elite group of bodyguards and confidants. The artist had shown this change by painting the court in its full regalia as the specially chosen Rogues: Wedge Antilles, Wes Janson, Tycho Celchu, and Derik "Hobbie" Kilvian stood before the Heir and promised the service of the Rogues to her. Promising to defend them with 'till their dying breath.  
  
Wes Janson. Tycho Celchu.Dear gods, he was in the presence of two of the men who had pledged the Rogues to the Princess.  
  
Before Corran could fully consider this thought, Tycho drew his attention towards the painting. His reverence toward the painting of the Heir was disconcerting; He stared up at her as if she were made of flesh, not paint. "This was painted by a young Rogue named Gavin." Tycho pointed to a faint curl of gold pain that was so deeply hidden in the details of the work that Corran would have never found the signature without aid. Tycho let out a tired sigh, his voice somber as he continued speaking. "Gavin Darklighter. A more noble man never walked these halls."  
  
Corran reached out to touch the mural, wanting to feel the glossy texture of the marble so realistically portrayed din oils. His hand hovered a centimeter from the surface, then withdrew. He was unable to deface such beauty with even the slightest touch. "What happened to him?" Corran asked quietly. He already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask.  
  
"Murdered." Tycho's ice blue eyes suddenly warmed with the fires of rage. "Murdered by the Cardinal's Hounds."  
  
"The 181st." Corran tipped his head, absorbing the brilliance of a work painted by a life ended far too soon. "Why do you call them Hounds?"  
  
Tycho kneeled down; ignoring Corran's question, tracing the delicate curves of the signature so beautifully hidden in the decadence of the painted court. "Poor bastard should never have left Tatooine."  
  
Wes answered for the Rogue. "We call them Hounds because their commanding officer's a bitch."  
  
"Isard," Corran breathed, a shudder coursing down his spine. He had heard of this deadly woman who, it was said, fought better than any man. A woman whose madness knew no bounds. A deadly, eager mind that devoured all information and twisted it to her and her master's use.  
  
A more dangerous woman never lived.  
  
Suddenly, Tycho surged to his feet. "Yes, Isard," the Rogue snapped. "She will hunt you down like she hunted down the rest of us. She will torture you and then kill you slowly. Do you want that to happen to you, BOY? DO YOU?"  
  
Corran stared calmly at the enraged warrior. He knew that this anger was not directed at him. It was meant for the beings that had killed Tycho's friends. Towards the beings who had destroyed something precious to him.  
  
Corran was just a convenient target for his rage.  
  
"I don't care about the risks. I'm a dead man already. The price on my head guarantees that within the next few months, some bounty hunter will deliver me to the Dictat. Better do die for her," the gallant pointed to the image that Tycho had seemed so enraptured by. "Than be killed by some gutter scum."  
  
Quicker than thought, Tycho grasped two great handfuls of the gallant's tunic. "Let me make this crystalline clear. The Rogues are dead and your fascination with them will end with your death. Get out of here before I do the Cardinal a favor and kill you myself." 


	4. Chapter 3

Title: "One for All…"  
  
Author: Aggy AgHeart@l...  
  
Characters: Rogues and various Star Wars Icons  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: WAAS, Wildfire, Sith Chicks, if you want it, please ask me so I know where it is…  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or it's characters (I wish I did) but I do own the creativity that made this story. I'm not making any money but if  
  
Lucas would like to pay me... ;o)  
  
One for All…  
  
Aggy  
  
Princess Leia Organa stood on of the many balconies of the Imperial Palace. Behind her the luxurious quarters the Cardinal has so "graciously" awarded her during her stay on Coruscant. But all in the Palace knew that the Heir was no guest. No matter how fine the trappings of her suites, the entire planet was a jail for the exiled Princess.  
  
When she looked upon the urban sprawl of Coruscant at night, Leia could almost imagine that she was not a prisoner. That she was living on the city-planet of her own free will. But during the day…  
  
During the day she could see the horrid squalor to the world. Even hundreds of stories above Coruscant's warrens she could see the darkness of the Cardinal's oppression. If she could only break free, run far from the evil that infected the planet to again take up her cause. If only the Cardinal had not hunted down her Rogues. Then, perhaps, she could escape this cancerous world and bring about the end of Palpitine's reign.  
  
But such thoughts were foolishness. The Rogues were gone, dead or in hiding far away from Coruscant. All chance of escape, all hope was gone. She should resign herself to her fate, but her pride would not let her give into Palpitine's whims.  
  
A hand on the sleeve of her gown drew Leia's attention from the forlorn world spread out before her. "My Lady." The voice was husky, deep for a woman but still musical.  
  
Leia sighed and turned to her handmaid. "Yes, Mirax?"  
  
The woman's brown eyes darted towards the suite. "My Lady, the Cardinal wishes to speak with you. Winter is entertaining him, but I doubt that she can…" Mirax ran a hand through her short ebony hair, a nervous gesture she would never let Palpitine see. This one was strong, Leia mused. Stronger than any of her other followers, except for her Rogues, of course. But even such strength occasionally bowed to the whims of the Cardinal. The thought allowed a chill of dread to snake its way through the Heir.  
  
Savagely, she quenched that fear, knowing that during the impending confrontation, she could have no weakness. If she had, then all would be lost. Rubbing her forehead, Leia wished for things that the Force had denied them all. Peace, comfort, freedom. //Wishes do not come true. If they did, Luke would still be here. My Rogues would still be safe.// Shaking off her melancholy; Leia gestured to her handmaiden. "Show him in."  
  
No amount of preparation could ready her for the presence of Cardinal Palpatine. Though her knowledge of the Force was limited, she still had enough of the damning gift to be able to sense the evil that entwined itself in the Cardinal's soul. It chilled her heart. Only sheer determination kept it from tainting her mind. His wizen visage haunted her nightmares. The same visage that was now studying her intently. "Good afternoon, Leia."  
  
They were alone, so both could drop the facade that she was a guest. There was no reason for him to honor her. She was his prisoner. Nothing more, and the possibility of being even less haunted every moment she spent with the ruler of the Galaxy.  
  
"Good afternoon," she murmured, schooling her features into passivity.  
  
"I thought that since it was such a lovely day, you and your entourage should go shopping."  
  
Imperceptibly, Leia stiffened. She knew what would be next. They had discussed this topic many times. "Shopping, My Lord?"  
  
"Yes, Little One." The pet name made her ill, but the Princess kept her face serene. She would not let him see how much he disturbed her. "I think it is time that you gave up your white and chose a color more befitting your station. A new wardrobe perhaps."  
  
Leia fingered the gauze cuff of her snowy gown. "Sir, my presence already taxes your resources. I would loathe to become more of a burden."  
  
Palpatine smiled and the Heir barely kept herself from cringing. "The Galaxy is mine, Little One. The cost of a few gowns will not shatter my coffers."  
  
Her mind reeled. There had to be a way to dissuade him. Her choice of white was only partially because of its significance as an Alderaanian color of mourning. That was why she had first chosen the color, but as the Rebellion had progressed, it became her standard. When a being saw her clad in her whites, there was a sense of hope, that mayhaps freedom could still be won. To give up that tiny spark of hope…"My Lord, you know I wear white as a sign of mourning. It would be a disservice to all of Alderaan's sons and daughters if I should give up the signs of my grief."  
  
"You have grieved long enough. It is time that you showed the Galaxy that it is time to forget old wounds and look towards the future."  
  
Anger flared bright and hot. "What right do you have to decide what period of mourning is sufficient to honor the loss of an entire planet!"  
  
The look in his shadowed eyes was like a blow. She staggered away, trembling in sudden terror. "I decide because it is I who annihilated your homeworld. Never forget that My Lady or you may forget your place."  
  
Terror warred with rage, causing a curious tranquillity to wash over her. "If I receive the chance, I will kill you."  
  
The hood slipped for a moment, revealing powdery pale features that seemed far too ancient to belong to any mortal being. His hoarse chuckle would haunt her dreams for many nights. "There is power in you, Little One. The Force is strong, as it was with your father. Perhaps someday you will take his place at my side."  
  
Serenity quickly became revulsion and rage. "I would die before I become your lapdog!"  
  
"Believe what you wish, Princess. But someday you will take your rightful place at my side. Either as Lieutenant or Consort." Gathering his robes, he turned away from the beleaguered Heir. "You will go shopping this afternoon. And if I do not see at least one gown in a color other than your precious white…"  
  
Leia swallowed hard, knowing he need not finish the threat. The destruction of Alderaan and her Rogues was warning enough. Bowing her head, she accepted her loss. "As you wish, my lord." 


	5. 

Title: "One for All…"  
  
Author: Aggy AgHeart@l...  
  
Characters: Rogues and various Star Wars Icons  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: WAAS, Wildfire, Sith Chicks, if you want it, please ask me so I know where it is…  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or it's characters (I wish I did) but I do own the creativity that made this story. I'm not making any money but if  
  
Lucas would like to pay me... ;o)  
  
One for All…  
  
Aggy  
  
Princess Leia Organa stood on of the many balconies of the Imperial Palace. Behind her the luxurious quarters the Cardinal has so "graciously" awarded her during her stay on Coruscant. But all in the Palace knew that the Heir was no guest. No matter how fine the trappings of her suites, the entire planet was a jail for the exiled Princess.  
  
When she looked upon the urban sprawl of Coruscant at night, Leia could almost imagine that she was not a prisoner. That she was living on the city-planet of her own free will. But during the day…  
  
During the day she could see the horrid squalor to the world. Even hundreds of stories above Coruscant's warrens she could see the darkness of the Cardinal's oppression. If she could only break free, run far from the evil that infected the planet to again take up her cause. If only the Cardinal had not hunted down her Rogues. Then, perhaps, she could escape this cancerous world and bring about the end of Palpitine's reign.  
  
But such thoughts were foolishness. The Rogues were gone, dead or in hiding far away from Coruscant. All chance of escape, all hope was gone. She should resign herself to her fate, but her pride would not let her give into Palpitine's whims.  
  
A hand on the sleeve of her gown drew Leia's attention from the forlorn world spread out before her. "My Lady." The voice was husky, deep for a woman but still musical.  
  
Leia sighed and turned to her handmaid. "Yes, Mirax?"  
  
The woman's brown eyes darted towards the suite. "My Lady, the Cardinal wishes to speak with you. Winter is entertaining him, but I doubt that she can…" Mirax ran a hand through her short ebony hair, a nervous gesture she would never let Palpitine see. This one was strong, Leia mused. Stronger than any of her other followers, except for her Rogues, of course. But even such strength occasionally bowed to the whims of the Cardinal. The thought allowed a chill of dread to snake its way through the Heir.  
  
Savagely, she quenched that fear, knowing that during the impending confrontation, she could have no weakness. If she had, then all would be lost. Rubbing her forehead, Leia wished for things that the Force had denied them all. Peace, comfort, freedom. //Wishes do not come true. If they did, Luke would still be here. My Rogues would still be safe.// Shaking off her melancholy; Leia gestured to her handmaiden. "Show him in."  
  
No amount of preparation could ready her for the presence of Cardinal Palpatine. Though her knowledge of the Force was limited, she still had enough of the damning gift to be able to sense the evil that entwined itself in the Cardinal's soul. It chilled her heart. Only sheer determination kept it from tainting her mind. His wizen visage haunted her nightmares. The same visage that was now studying her intently. "Good afternoon, Leia."  
  
They were alone, so both could drop the facade that she was a guest. There was no reason for him to honor her. She was his prisoner. Nothing more, and the possibility of being even less haunted every moment she spent with the ruler of the Galaxy.  
  
"Good afternoon," she murmured, schooling her features into passivity.  
  
"I thought that since it was such a lovely day, you and your entourage should go shopping."  
  
Imperceptibly, Leia stiffened. She knew what would be next. They had discussed this topic many times. "Shopping, My Lord?"  
  
"Yes, Little One." The pet name made her ill, but the Princess kept her face serene. She would not let him see how much he disturbed her. "I think it is time that you gave up your white and chose a color more befitting your station. A new wardrobe perhaps."  
  
Leia fingered the gauze cuff of her snowy gown. "Sir, my presence already taxes your resources. I would loathe to become more of a burden."  
  
Palpatine smiled and the Heir barely kept herself from cringing. "The Galaxy is mine, Little One. The cost of a few gowns will not shatter my coffers."  
  
Her mind reeled. There had to be a way to dissuade him. Her choice of white was only partially because of its significance as an Alderaanian color of mourning. That was why she had first chosen the color, but as the Rebellion had progressed, it became her standard. When a being saw her clad in her whites, there was a sense of hope, that mayhaps freedom could still be won. To give up that tiny spark of hope…"My Lord, you know I wear white as a sign of mourning. It would be a disservice to all of Alderaan's sons and daughters if I should give up the signs of my grief."  
  
"You have grieved long enough. It is time that you showed the Galaxy that it is time to forget old wounds and look towards the future."  
  
Anger flared bright and hot. "What right do you have to decide what period of mourning is sufficient to honor the loss of an entire planet!"  
  
The look in his shadowed eyes was like a blow. She staggered away, trembling in sudden terror. "I decide because it is I who annihilated your homeworld. Never forget that My Lady or you may forget your place."  
  
Terror warred with rage, causing a curious tranquillity to wash over her. "If I receive the chance, I will kill you."  
  
The hood slipped for a moment, revealing powdery pale features that seemed far too ancient to belong to any mortal being. His hoarse chuckle would haunt her dreams for many nights. "There is power in you, Little One. The Force is strong, as it was with your father. Perhaps someday you will take his place at my side."  
  
Serenity quickly became revulsion and rage. "I would die before I become your lapdog!"  
  
"Believe what you wish, Princess. But someday you will take your rightful place at my side. Either as Lieutenant or Consort." Gathering his robes, he turned away from the beleaguered Heir. "You will go shopping this afternoon. And if I do not see at least one gown in a color other than your precious white…"  
  
Leia swallowed hard, knowing he need not finish the threat. The destruction of Alderaan and her Rogues was warning enough. Bowing her head, she accepted her loss. "As you wish, my lord." 


End file.
